


Passage

by DragonTail



Series: Transformers: RID [3]
Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonTail/pseuds/DragonTail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Earth-based Autobots' greatest accomplishment - a global "space bridge" permitting hyper-fast transport to almost anywhere on the planet - has been turned <i>against</i> them by the Terrorcons. To reclaim it, Ultra Magnus and his RID unit must go into battle for the first time in 10 years - but a decade of peace has taken more of a toll on the Autobots' team-work than they've realised! Plus: Koji Jones investigates the riddle of the seventh "RID Unit".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Make a break for cover,” Magnus barked. “I’ll try to unleash the power of the Planet Key.”

Armourhide dodged the rocket pod screaming toward him and rolled out of the way as it exploded. “In here?” he yelled, his nasal voice echoing off the tunnel walls. “You may be our fearless leader, but I thought you were some kinda tactician as well! You do dat in here, and yer gonna fry all our circuits!”

More rocket pods tore into the rainbow-hued wall, forcing Magnus down to one knee. “Do you have a better suggestion?” he growled.

“Not really,” Armourhide griped, “I’d just prefer ta get slagged by the opposin’ team than to be scrapped by my own boss-mech in the middle of our own freakin’ tunnels!”

He reached under his front grille and grabbed two handfuls of explosives. Without even looking, he flung them into the heart of the fight. Detonations thundered, filling the tunnel with stinging white light.

Magnus grabbed him by the shoulder. “Have you blown a fuse? Our own mechs could be in there?”

“Oh, fer bootin’ up cold!” the smaller Autobot snapped. “What part’a ‘war means sacrifice’ don’t you get, diesel fer brains?” He jerked away from his leader’s outstretched hand. “You don’t think, fer a second, anyone caught up in dat mess wouldn’t rather us take out da whole stinking Terrorcon army even at da cost of their own lives?”

“ _You_ wouldn’t,” Magnus glowered, “or have you already forgotten your request to die at the hands of the enemy?”

Armourhide turned his back to the battle. “Dat’s it,” he spat, jamming a finger in the giant Autobot’s face. “You’ve been riding my tail from da moment I set foot on dis planet, and I’m sick ‘o yer attitude! As far as I’m concerned, you can kiss my…”

He side-stepped to his left as Magnus juked to the right. As one, they fired – Armourhide emptying four of his chest-mounted silos, Magnus loosing a terrifying barrage of blue electricity. Wreckloose and Insecticon – the enemies that had sought to attack while they “argued” – were caught in the dead centre of the salvos. The beetle flipped and spun down the tunnel; the moose lizard howled and jerked spasmodically.

“Well done,” Magnus nodded.

“Funny, ain’t it?” Armourhide chuckled. “The old moves… ya never lose ‘em.”

Tyres squealed to their right and they turned – Jazz and Rodimus transformed and landed beside them. “Good to hear,” the damaged Bugatti said hoarsely, “because we’re going to need every move in the book.”

He pointed down the tunnel, and Armourhide felt his sump sink. Insecticon had already recovered and regrouped with his fellows, firing a barrage at Downshift. Scattorshot, meanwhile, was fending off a giant, bat-winged Terrorcon with his twin-barrelled rifle.

“Aw, great,” Armourhide whimpered. “We’re all gonna die.”

\-----

__  
Earlier…  


“All right, gentle mechs, start yer engines and fall in behind me. Dis is where da rat goes on the attack.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Scattorshot moaned. “Don’t let it go to yer head, Armourhide. Ain’t nobody said pullin’ point on this mission is any kind ‘o testament to yer alleged skills.”

The stocky robot snorted. “Fine then, oh fearless junior leader – lead da way, be my guest. But when yer caboose is in a sling, courtesy of a stinkin’ Terrorcon trap, don’t come grindin’ my gears fer not warning ya.”

“Pipe down, the both of you,” Ultra Magnus rumbled. “We don’t have time for this sort of nonsense. Scattorshot: keep everyone in contact and liaise if we split up. Armourhide: lead the way. The rest of you keep a sharp look-out. This sweep and clear has to be thorough, total and 100 per cent successful. Now _move_.”

“Yer command is my wish, Big Bot,” Armourhide saluted, then transformed into a blue mini-cab truck.

_Dis is gonna be great,_ he thought to himself. _Finally a mission dat’s worthy of my elite skills. Ain’t no way the rest of these cheese heads’ll be able to dis me once I clear out the riff-raff in my beloved Global Space Bridge._

He fired up his halogen headlights, marvelling at the way they pierced the half-light. With a thud of metal and the howl of engines, Ultra Magnus pulled in behind him. The Earthforce commander added his own lights to the gloom. “Nice o’ ya to contribute,” he said to the larger truck. “Considerin’ as we’d have lights an' all if it weren’t fer you.”

“The Terrorcons have enough advantages as it is,” Magnus replied stiffly. “They’re able to heal injuries almost instantly, thanks to the Transmetal process. They’re stronger than before. And, in case you’ve forgotten, they don’t show up on any of our sensor scans. Even their individual Energon signatures are hidden…”

“… which is theoretically impossible,” Downshift, transforming into a green muscle car, interrupted.

“… so the only way to find them is by sight. I think we can rob them the advantage of being able to see us coming down the tunnel, don’t you agree?”

“Ehhh.” Had Armourhide still been in robot mode, he would have shrugged. “Got to tell you I don’t think it’ll make a heck of a lot of difference in da end. With all da crazy gizmos and upgrades that flea circus has, they probably already know we’re here.”

Armourhide watched as the rest of the team – Scattorshot, Jazz and Rodimus – transformed and joined the convoy. _Feels great to see you all sucking on my exhaust fer a change,_ he chuckled nastily. _I’ve been waiting a long, long time fer a day like dis, boys, and I intend ta enjoy it while it lasts._

They moved forward, but the saboteur’s bitter processor was fixed firmly on the past. He’d spent centuries in the trenches of the Cybertronian civil war, liberating one backwater area after another thanks to his trademark “slash and burn” style. Endless solo successes had finally granted him an audience with the great and powerful Prime – after the war was won, naturally – and entry into the so-called “core group” of the Autobots.

It hadn’t lasted.

First there’d been the… incident… at the funeral, the running battle through the streets of Iacon. Then there was that thing with the detonators and the Energon cache, that whole deal with the Tower of Pion re-dedication ceremony and the… unpleasantness… with Vector Prime. By the time all of that was over, and the performance reviews had been attached to his permanent record, any thought of Armourhide staying with the “core group” had well and truly evaporated.

No battalion would have him. There was no scope for him to work solo anymore – the war was over, Cybertron was a planet of freedom. Thanks to Primus’ miracle, there was no need for demolitions, not even in the resettlement areas. For a while it seemed those prissy suburbs were Armourhide’s destiny – a cushy garage and a thank-you note from High Command, just to get him out of the way.

Then Magnus had announced his big-brained idea to return to Earth and establish a garrison for the protection of humans. He’d not wanted Armourhide, either, but nor did he desire the little mech scrapped by Grimlock. He’d taken the saboteur under sufferance.

_I’ll show ‘em… all of ‘em,_ Armourhide thought. _They don’t know the GSB like I do. They see rainbow walls, steel arches and an endless stretch of tunnel. Now, I know tunnels, an’ I came with da Build Team when they made the GSB. It ain’t a rock-an-granite tunnel – it’s a tunnel through Transwarp space, a branchin’ set of spatial wormholes right through da centre of da planet. Dat requires a special means of defence, not yer average “seek and destroy” garbage._

He chuckled. _Also, they don’t have a proto’s notion of ambush and cover-ops techniques – without me, they’re scrap on dis here mission. Me, conversely, has da whole thing in da bag already._

“Look at that!” Rodimus exclaimed. The red sports car broke from the convoy and hurtled forward. A few hundred metres ahead he pulled up, transformed, and crouched by one of the steel archways that dotted the GSB tunnels. As they drew closer, the others could tell he was peering at something mounted on the structure, almost at floor level.

“It’s one of our scanning devices,” the young cavalier murmured. “And it’s working perfectly. _Absolutely_ perfectly. So the Terrorcons haven’t knocked out our sensor net, or found a way to re-route and slip past. These things just don’t pick them up.”

“Maybe ‘cause they ain’t really Transformers anymore?” Jazz asked. “You know, with their whole ‘feathers, fur or fins’ schtick?”

“Unlikely,” Downshift said, pulling up next to the scanner. “We designed these to pick up life both mechanical and organic, just in case a human or a native animal accidentally wandered through an open portal.” His headlights flickered with colour as he performed a diagnostic. “Yep. It’s working properly.”

Rodimus frowned. “I told you that.”

Downshift ignored him. “Terrorcons are just a melding of metal and flesh – that’s not enough to confuse the system. It might register them as an anomaly, or as one over the other depending on how they’re composed, but it would still register them. Besides, anything that doesn’t have an Autobrand automatically triggers an alarm. And we haven’t had an alarm in… well, _ever._ ”

Despite himself, Armourhide shivered. “Dese guys get creepier by the astrosecond.”

“And you ain’t even had to face ‘em yet,” Jazz laughed nervously. “Wait until you see one of ‘em get an invisible panel-beating – heal up right before your optics. Now that’s a sight you ain’t never gonna forget.”

“Stow the chatter,” Magnus said, revving his engine to ensure their attention. “If the GSB has been compromised, the problem is more serious than a lack of access for us. It means the Terrorcons can go anywhere with impunity. Any destruction they cause will be our responsibility. They’ve had one successful raid already, and kidnapped two of our allies. It stops now.”

“You heard the mech,” Scattorshot said, revving his engine in time. “We gotta roll out an’ find these critters ‘fore they cause any more problems. Let’s move, RIDs.”

\-----

“Scattorshot! Move!”

Ultra Magnus transformed and hurtled down the tunnel, his cab aimed directly at the bat-winged Terrorcon. Scattorshot fired two more blasts and leaped back, just in time for the blue-and-white car carrier to hurtle past and slam into his opponent. With a yelp, the ‘con was flipped up into the air and landed, bodily, on Magnus’ trailer. The Earthforce commander didn’t stop – he accelerated further along the GSB, taking the protesting bad guy with him for the ride.

“Ehhh,” Armourhide muttered. “There’s self-sacrifice, and there’s blatant stupidity. I’ll figure out which one dat was dependin’ on whether he makes it back or not.”

He lifted his long-barrelled blaster to the ceiling and fired. Divebomb circled, then ducked through the crimson barrage. The metallic condor laughed all the while, making his evasion look effortless. “Nice shooting, ground-crawler,” he whooped. “Maybe next time I’ll bring the side of a space cruiser and you can miss that, too!”

“Keep it up, beaky,” Armourhide sneered. “You’ve got yerself an education comin’.”

“Really?” Divebomb asked sarcastically, spreading his wings and soaring to the very top of the tunnel. “And what am I about to learn, teacher?”

Armourhide closed one optic, and drew a steady bead. “Dat Transwarp energy in a Global Space Bridge is only stable as long as it’s behind a containment field,” he rasped.

A single red bolt lanced from his rifle. The pencil-thin beam sailed past Divebomb, missing both his head and his wing by miles. But the Autobot wasn’t disappointed – he hadn’t been aiming for the ‘con, anyway.

The blast hit a precise spot on the rainbow wall, puncturing it _just_ enough. Divebomb howled with surprise and rage as a colour-shifting tendril of energy snaked out and brushed against him, scorching his metalwork and singeing his organic components.

“You slagging fraker!” he screamed as he lost altitude… and drifted right into Armourhide’s sights. The truck fired from his chest, again and again, filling the Terrorcon with fletchette rounds. More like a pin cushion than a Transformer, the condor fell to the floor and lay silent.

“Ha _hah_!” Armourhide whooped. “Score one for da home team!”

He paused long enough to make sure the GSB’s internal repair system was working, and that the breach was already sealing itself. _Not dat anyone else outside of the Build Team knows da precise temperature and beam focus needed to puncture the Transwarp walls._ He transformed and took off after Magnus, right into the thick of the fighting. _I oughta have my head read fer this,_ he grumped. _All of us should be headed da other way, quick smart. Sure, dere’s six of us and five of them, but they ain’t seeing that as a disadvantage right now._

No matter what, they couldn’t run. The GSB was too important to lose – and too useful to leave in the hands of the Terrorcons. All they needed was some sure-fire way of driving them back… something that didn’t exactly seem forthcoming. And it was only a matter of time before one of the Autobots took severe enough damage to pull them out of the fight for good.

Armourhide flashed his lights, trying to signal one of the other RIDs. Nobody answered. He swept the dim tunnel and gasped. Rodimus was flat on his back grappling with a dark, feral shape… Battle Ravage. The jaguar was trying to claw the cavalier’s face, but Rodimus had firm hold of the cat’s forepaws. As Armourhide watched, the kid brought one orange knee up into the Terrorcon’s midsection. Battle Ravage coughed loudly, the air knocked from his combustion system just long enough for Rodimus to wiggle free.

Scattorshot was back in vehicle mode, sheltering behind his armour. Insecticon was peppering the half-track tank with his quad-barrelled mini-gun. The Earthforce 2IC spun in place, dodged and weaved but was still taking heavy fire.

A horrid clashing noise echoed around them. Jazz was hiding behind his deflector shield, using it to fend off Wreckloose. The lizard had taken on his misshapen robot mode and was wielding his antlers like a wrecking hook. The two weapons sparked, hummed and crackled as they collided, with neither mech able to gain the advantage. And, for as long as he had to hide behind his shield, Jazz couldn’t use his shoulder-mounted missile launchers. His flamethrower would, of course, have been best but it was long gone.

Two of his peers needed help. But to which should he go to first?

The blue mini-cab spend up. _If it’s good enough fer Magnus, it’s good enough for me,_ he thought, levelling his front grille at Wreckloose. _Jazz’s weapons have more range than mine,_ he reasoned. _If I get him clear, he can help the others fast._ He flattened his accelerator, only to find his wheels were spinning in mid-air. Pain shot through his upper section as he heard metal crunch and tear. Panicked, he checked his roof-mounted scanners and looked right into the face of Divebomb.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the condor crowed. His twisted beak was straightening itself as he spoke – a sickening sight. “Need a lift?”

\-----

__  
Earlier…  


“Lift me up… a little higher… just a little bit more…”

Rodimus and Jazz grunted. “Geez, Downshift, you could stand to drop a few pounds,” Jazz winced, holding his arms up as straight as he could. “Maybe cut down on alla that armour you been piling on, these last few years.”

“Not gonna happen,” Rodimus growled. “Paranoia makes you put on weight.”

“Can it,” Downshift admonished, “and keep me still, will you? This is important.” The engineer was balanced precariously on the outstretched hands of the other two Autobots, his thick legs wobbling and creaking. “Uh huh… yeah… same deal here,” he said, signalling to be let down. Jazz and Rodimus dumped him unceremoniously, and he landed on his skid plate with a thud.

“Ow,” he muttered. “Anyway, that sensor is fine, too. Nothing’s been tampered with – not even the portals. I don’t have the faintest idea how these creeps are slipping through unnoticed.”

“Could it be something to do with the big creep that gave us the hairy eyeball?” Jazz wondered aloud.

Armourhide wrinkled his nose. “Not this load’a slag again…”

The Bugatti fixed him with a hard stare. “Ain’t no load, fool – it’s the stone truth,” he growled. “Wings like a bat an’ eyes like a rattlesnake… rooted me, Magnus and the kid to the spot while he took off with Kicker, and weren’t a damn thing we could do.”

“I thought of that,” Downshift said, dusting himself off. “First, I was convinced our mystery Terrorcon’s ‘hypnosis’ was actually a virus, transmitted to your processors via infra-red. You know, like he Bluetooth-ed your brains.” He laughed at his joke. “But that wouldn’t account for Koji and Kicker, so there must be some element of actual hypnosis involved. Anyway, there’s no evidence of the sensors being mind-melded into submission by creatures of the night.”

Magnus sniffed. “You make it sound like we’re telling ghost stories, Downshift.”

The engineer shrugged. “I’m not doubting you, Big Bot, I’m just finding it hard to believe,” he said. “I mean, I’ve seen a lot of horrid things – _really_ horrid – but Transformer hypnotism isn’t something I’m prepared to sign… off… on…”

His voice trailed off, and his head-mounted displays stopped flashing. Downshift’s optics glazed over and his posture slumped, just a little, from its usual rigid upright position. Armourhide and the others stood around waiting for him to abandon the gag. “Yeah, dat’s _real_ funny, egghead,” he snorted. “Dis ain’t the time to be mucking around, in case ya didn’t notice da seriousness of dis here situation.”

Downshift didn’t move.

The saboteur clicked his steel fingers, right in front of his friend’s optics. He shoved him a little; waved a hand around his face. “Lights ain’t on and nobody’s home,” Armourhide said darkly. “Now what?”

Magnus had already drawn his weapon – so, too, had Scattorshot. Armourhide and the others started to reach for theirs when they heard a whistle and a clatter. A quick look down confirmed their worst fears. “Concussion grenade!” Magnus cried. The RIDs scattered in all directions; Jazz dragged the loose-limbed Downshift behind him.

The grenade detonated, its shockwave further splitting them. Armourhide landed head-first by one of the arches… a little battered but otherwise undamaged. He’d even managed to keep hold of his rifle, which was a bonus. It put him on better footing than some of the others – he could see Jazz, a few hundred metres away, feeling around in the half-light for his flamethrower. Nobody looked badly hurt – even Downshift had come to his senses, from what he could see – but Armourhide knew that wouldn’t last.

He knew because of the five mechs glaring at them from further down the tunnel.

The biggest stood in the centre – it was the bat-winged guy the others had been talking about. A jewel set into the centre of his brow was twinkling, just faintly, as if powering down. He was flanked on either side by the gruesome twosome – Divebomb and, in jaguar mode as always, Battle Ravage. It was getting so that Armourhide wondered if the cat even had a robot mode… or if he remembered how to change into it. Insecticon, mandibles clicking with his laughter, filled out the right-hand side while an unfamiliar mech completed the left wing of the attack.

It took Armourhide a few moments to figure out who it was. The guy’s basic shape struck a chord but his texture was wrong. Finally, he realised the mech was more _flesh_ than metal… that this guy had taken the Transmetal process to one heck of an extreme. It looked like he’d stapled an entire lizard population to his steel skeleton, then riveted a few panels over the top just for aesthetics.

Wreckloose.

One of his rivals from the good ol’ days of the tunnel wars beneath the occupied territories. A real cold-oiled hunter/killer type, Wreckloose was the sort who’d lay in wait for days in order to spring a trap. He had been set on Armourhide’s tail a couple of times with no success… with a slight gulp, the saboteur realised that might be about to change.

“Surrender,” Magnus yelled. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. The Big Bot was doing the merciful thing, in his opinion, and offering the mooks a chance to keep their endoskeletons in tact. Unfortunately, according to the vibe Armourhide was picking up, it was the Autobots who’d likely need the mercy.

“They die, our mission is completed faster,” the mech with the wings murmured. “Wipe them out.”

Divebomb and Insecticon transformed, shrieking and clicking like the creatures they aped. Wreckloose _melted and reformed_ into something that was part komodo dragon and part moose, sprouting wickedly jagged antlers from a bony ridge across its head and neck. The big mech drew two huge missile launchers from somewhere on his person, drawing bead on Magnus. Then Battle Ravage leaped, hate spewing from his processor, and it was _on_.

\-----

“On target… gotcha!”

Rodimus’ electro-blast clipped Divebomb’s wing, screwing with his flight plan. It was enough to make the condor loosen his grip, which was all Armourhide needed. He transformed to robot mode and hung, upside-down, from his enemy’s talons. Silently, he gave thanks that the top of his truck form became his legs, then drew his rifle. He fired four quick shots into Divebomb’s belly at point-blank range.

The ugly bird-bot squawked painfully and let go. Armourhide tumbled from his grip, aimed head-first for the ground – with a jerk, Rodimus intercepted his descent and caught him. “My hero,” Armourhide quipped. He gave the stunned cavalier a quick peck on the cheek – more to torque him than anything – and hopped down, already drawing bead on Wreckloose.

_Gotta get him before he gets me,_ he reasoned. _If he has even half a chance to turn his attention dis way, lizard lips is gonna make it personal._

He heard Rodimus transform and peel out – no doubt to take another crack at Battle Ravage – then focused on the task at hand. If he used his rifle as a laser sight, poured a few rounds into Wreckloose’s scaly hide and then followed it up with a chest salvo, they’d have gecko meat for a week and no more vendettas. Perfect. Armourhide stretched out his arm…

… and bellowed in pain as an Energon scythe whipped in from the right, slicing the limb off at the elbow.

Armourhide fell to his knees, almost weeping, and clutched at the sparking, oily stump. He forces his optics to the right, desperate to see his attacker. Divebomb, a second emerald scythe in his hand, was grinning. The blast-holes in his torso were already scabbing over with fresh alloy.

“It’s time you understood the new rules, sewer rat,” the condor hissed.


	2. Chapter 2

Armourhide had long been prone to bouts of black humour. In his younger days, he’d even tried his hand at stand-up comedy. Nights had been spent trying to entertain the drinkers at Macaddam’s Old Oil House with humour both ribald and scathing. None of it had really made an impact, and he’d moved on to military life.

Staring down at the sparking, oil-drenched stump that hung from his right shoulder, one sentence… one unforgivably awful pun… repeated inside his processor. _I’ve been rendered totally armless,_ he thought, again and again.

“It’s time you understood the new rules, sewer rat,” Divebomb hissed. The Terrorcon was responsible for his missing limb – one of his Energon scythes had cleaved it off, moments earlier. It lay a few feet away, electro-nerve impulses causing it to writhe and jump in place. The scythe had embedded itself in the left-hand tunnel wall. Divebomb had another in his hand.

“The rules are as follows,” the condor said as he closed the gap between them. “One: the bad guys win. Two: the good guys die screaming.” He knelt down behind Armourhide and grinned with sinister relish. “Three: only those of the True Path can heal fatal wounds. That means you, my stumpy victim, are due to yell your little synthesiser out.”

Armourhide felt the scythe press against the back of his neck. The steel of his armour sizzled on contact, but the pain went almost unnoticed. His systems were too busy screaming about his arm and the oil haemorrhaging from his shoulder.

His _shoulder_.

With a jerk and a cry of pain, Armourhide turned and thrust the gaping wound right into Divebomb’s face. The Terrorcon tried to recoil but it was too late – he was caught, full force, by the ragged chunk of metal. A mass of tangled wiring burned his face plate, sparks from a hundred ruined systems burned into his optics and singed delicate circuitry. The oil… Armourhide’s very life blood… seeped into his mouth and down his neck and he gagged, disgusted at the putrid defence manoeuvre.

“Didn’t expect dat, didja?” he coughed. “But it don’t matter what situation he’s in, a commando is still a commando – ya freak!”

The Autobot rose shakily to his feet and pressed his sudden advantage. He grabbed Divebomb around the neck with his uninjured left hand, throttling him hard and trying to ignore the awful gurgling, choking noise. Armourhide tightened his grip until his hand shook from exertion, and something snapped.

The Terrorcon went limp. His head lolled back, withdrawing from the oily mess with a sucking noise, and rang hollowly on the concrete. What little remained of his optics was dark – Armourhide had managed to force the creature into stasis lock.

Dimly, he realised he’d accomplished something amazing… he’d proven there was a limit to even a Transmetal’s recuperative powers. But his processor refused to focus on the thought, on anything other than the pain tearing through his small body.

With a supreme effort, Armourhide unlocked his near-seized left hand and toppled back onto his skid plate. He cradled his shoulder, pressing fingers into the wound to staunch the flow of oil. Soon, internal repair systems would kick in and “cauterise” it, protecting him from death, but he needed to get to a maintenance table or a CR chamber quickly.

_Th’ arm… it’ll be better if you can take th’ arm with you._

Obeying the faint voice of reason in his head, Armourhide looked around. _Dat’s funny. I could’a sworn it was just over dere._ He scanned the floor, panic setting in. The arm had vanished.

\-----

The robot that carried him to bed had claws.

It was the only conclusion at which Koji could arrive. The shirt he’d been wearing that day… the day his parents were kidnapped… had two long tears down its back. And he’d fallen asleep propped up against the stalk of the command chair, that first night. Someone among the Autobots had picked him up, carried him to his bedroom and lay him down to sleep. Moments after that, he’d seen a flash of ivory outside and heard an animal howl.

He thought about it.

Ultra Magnus and Armourhide were the only two Autobots with enough white on their bodies to really notice. He was pretty certain neither of them had claws. And even if “Mr Sandman” wasn’t connected to his sleepy vision – which he didn’t believe for a second – none of the other robots had sharp, pointy fingers. By process of elimination, that meant not a single one of the six Autobots he’d met had put him to bed and torn his shirt.

Leaving that mysterious seventh Autobot.

_He’d done a quick count of everyone in the control room – six. “Aren’t there seven of these… ROD units, or whatever?” he’d asked Jazz._

_“RID,” the Bugatti had corrected. “Research, Infiltration and Defence. Politically correct way of saying ‘alien robots in your ‘hood, handling the stuff that’s too big for your police, fire fighters, armed forces and coast guard’.”_

_“But,” Koji had muttered, “you said there were seven. So who’s…”_

Whoever this seventh mech was, no one was in a hurry to introduce him to Koji. Nor to speak about him in conversation… or ask for his help with missions… or allow him out of the base. Koji had asked a few choice questions of the computer system, once the Autobots had left. “Units one through six traveling by road to Global Space Bridge Portal 17,” it had told him (obviously, they were doing something _sooo_ much more important than finding his parents). “Unit seven confined to base as per standing orders.”

If he was going to solve this mystery, he’d have to get outside and do it himself. And, with his metallic chaperones gone for the day and no sign of his Aunt Sally, it wasn’t like he had anything else with which to fill his time.

Koji took the half-hour walk down the steep ramp to get back to ground level. He’d dressed lightly – jacket, jeans, sneakers – even though he was in the middle of a mountain. It seemed Autobot technology didn’t just phase bases, it also created the optimum temperature for occupancy. There were birds in the sky, rabbits in the tall grass… even fish in the crystal blue lake. Koji wondered how they’d gotten there. _Jazz probably bought them in for ambiance,_ he sniffed.

Sure, he was being ungrateful, but the robots weren’t helping his attitude. They either mooned over him like a pet or ignored him completely. Not that he wasn’t used to that sort of treatment but, if it had to continue, he’d much rather it come from his parents, like it always used to. _Mom, Dad… wherever you are, I hope you’re okay._

He walked around the edge of the lake and headed inwards, away from the mountainside and the portal back to the real world. He was sure the howling sound had come from the trees in the distance – as sure as he could be of anything heard through sleepy ears. It didn’t take long to see the “trees” were actually a pretty thick forest of pines and birches, all tangled around one another. Koji started picking his way through, careful not to catch his clothes on any protruding branches.

More than 10 minutes in, he found a footprint. More accurately, he _fell_ into a footprint – a massive, squared-off copy of an animal track. It was in a patch of soft mud, indicating travel back in the direction he’d come. Looking around, he noticed scratches on some nearby tree trunks and missing chunks of foliage. Both were at roughly shoulder-height for a medium-sized Transformer, like Jazz or Rodimus.

_What the heck am I dealing with here?_

A warm breeze blew down the back of his neck. It smelled heavy with meat and dirt. As goose pimples erupted across his flesh, Koji broke out into a run. He tried not to scream as he ran out of the clearing and toward the thick growth – but something hit him in the back and knocked the wind from his lungs.

Koji tumbled, feet over head, and came to rest against the rough bark of a pine. A shape loomed over him… tall, ivory white and sleek. He looked up into the pale yellow eyes of a great white wolf. Its lupine head was framed with blue metallic fur, while golden sabre-fangs jutted from its salivating mouth. The creature raised one of its hind feet and brought it down on Koji’s chest, pinning him there and restricting his already-panicked breathing.

“Upwind is a dangerous place to be, mammal,” the beast crooned.

\-----

Rocket pods whistled overhead. Laser blasts ricocheted off the walls. Armourhide ignored it all and kept trudging, dragging his burden behind him. It was difficult with only one arm but he was determined not to lose hold of his prize – the unconscious Divebomb. _If these creeps are gonna take my arm, I’m damn well taking something of theirs, as well._

“Rodimus,” he yelled, catching sight of his friend. “Little help?”

The cavalier fired three more rounds at the retreating Battle Ravage before he turned. His face twisted with horror. “Sweet Primus,” he breathed, optics focusing on the smaller Autobot’s wounds. “Get over here – I’ll cover you!”

Armourhide ducked a little lower, not entirely trusting the kid’s aim. Chosen One he may be, but that didn’t guarantee his visual acuity. He needn’t have worried. With no obvious effort, Rodimus lay down a blanket of cover fire around Armourhide while still knocking Battle Ravage off all four paws. _No mean feat, dat… I might haveta revise my opinion of the kid upwards._

“Frelling hack,” Rodimus cursed as they drew closer. He stopped firing and dropped to a knee. “Gimme that,” he said, quickly binding Divebomb’s hands and feet with electro-cuffs and tossing the Terrorcon to one side. “There’s more important things than prisoners right now.”

He eased Armourhide to the floor. For the first time, the commando allowed himself to really feel the agony. It was blinding; so bad it made his processor swim. Static curled at the edges of his vision while the battle devolved into a mass of coloured lights and tinny, echoing noises. Only Rodimus’ voice remained clear. “I want to try something, if you’ll let me,” the crimson racer said soothingly. “It’s an old Matrix Templar technique, and it could help.”

“Do it,” Armourhide croaked, his pain threshold exceeded.

Rodimus lay him down flat and curled his fingers. His right hand made the letter “c” while the other made its mirror image. Then he pulled his hands apart, just a little, and moved them back toward one another, the “c” shapes interlocking momentarily. For a while, the cavalier repeated that action – _bouncing_ his hands off each other. Always, he kept a slight gap between them.

The motion sped up until the hands registered as a dark blur on Armourhide’s scanners. Rodimus had closed his own optics, and his steel lips were parted slightly. He might have been whispering something, but the smaller Autobot couldn’t make out any words. Then, with a sudden motion, Rodimus slapped both palms onto Armourhide’s chest… _hard._

He felt a burning sensation and cried out – it was like he’d been jabbed by two red-hot laser prongs. The sensation faded as quickly as it had started and Armourhide realised, uncomprehendingly, that his pain was gone. He glanced to the right and saw his shoulder had begun to cauterise, stopping the oil flow. Whatever Rodimus had done had deactivated his pain receptors and jump-started the self-repair process… perhaps even accelerated it.

“Cool,” Rodimus grinned, evidently pleased with himself. “Those old data tracks were right on the money. I mean, I figured there _had_ to be a way pre-war Transformers initiated emergency, life-and-death repairs, seeing as there’d have been no medics on-hand.” His smile broadened. “How are you feeling?”

“To be honest, I ain’t feeling anything ‘cept clear-headed,” Armourhide said, struggling to sit up. “I know da arm’s gone, and dat dere’s pain, but my systems won’t register it. Whad’ya do, faith heal me or something?”

“Nah,” Rodimus said, waving a hand dismissively. “I imparted a fraction of Matrix energy to you – enough to encourage your body to heal itself. The thing with the pain receptors is a bonus side-effect.” He winked. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Huh? Oh yeah – thanks, kid,” Armourhide babbled, suddenly embarrassed. “But I gotta ask: Matrix energy? I thought… I mean, I know you’re gonna be Prime an’ all, but you ain’t got the bauble on ya. Optimus does. So howd’ja…”

With a mighty roar, Battle Ravage crashed into them. Armourhide had just enough time to grab Divebomb before he went skidding across the tunnel floor, coming to a halt one hundred metres away. Rodimus, hopelessly entangled with the jaguar, seemed to vanish into the half-light. Armourhide heard another roar, then a smattering of electro-blasts, then nothing.

“Oh man,” he whined. He looked down at his prisoner. “Everyone but you is gonna die, and dat’s only because you’re out of it already, feather duster.”

\-----

As Koji watched, the wolf transformed. The foot that pinned him remained in place; the rest of the ivory metalwork moved around it. In seconds, the creature had snapped upright – hind feet becoming humanoid feet – and straightened out. One arm emerged from somewhere in its form, while its neck and head had somehow became the other limb. Its chest and pelvis reminded Koji of samurai armour: decorative and deadly. Atop it all sat a very lupine head, part humanoid but with overpowering wolf styling. It reminded the boy of the anthomorphic characters seen in cartoons and in comic books. Perhaps he’d met the first Transformer furry or something.

“Well?” the wolf demanded. It spoke with a guttural growl and bit off every syllable as if it were a piece of meat.

Koji found his courage. “Well what?” he spat back. “You think I haven’t seen an Autobot transform before? Please… that’s old news to me now. Let me up, would you?”

A corner of the wolf’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. Koji caught a glimpse of golden fangs peeking through. “Courage,” the creature purred happily. “Good to see.” It pulled its foot from the soil, releasing the boy. “You are Koji?”

He nodded.

“They call me Snarl,” the wolf offered.

“Really? Gee, I wonder why,” Koji deadpanned.

The robot actually laughed at that – a barking chuckle. “Imagination is not the strong suit of the Autobots, believe me,” he said. “I’ve spent far too much time among them to have missed that little life lesson. And this group…” he waved his animal mode’s head toward the base, “… are worse than most.”

Koji frowned. “You talk like you’re not one of them. Act like it, too. But…” he pointed to Snarl’s leg, “… you wear their mark.”

Snarl wrinkled his nose. “It may be more accurate to say they wear mine,” he growled. “Though our species share a planet of origin, I am no more an Autobot than you are a gorilla. I am of Animatros; one of the colony worlds settled by the first Cybertronian explorers. Our leader, Flame Convoy, bid us take on animal form to better survive the green planet’s harsh environment… hence the form you see before you.”

“Beast Transformers,” Koji nodded appreciatively. “Nice to know there’s some variety in the range.”

“Not anymore,” Snarl whispered, his expression darkening. “Flame Convoy was a less than just ruler, and war split Animatros into two tribes… that of the Purple Mask, and that of the Red Mask. I was of the Red Mask, the last of that tribe to survive. Now, following the arrival of these Autobots, the Purple Masks have been rendered extinct and Animatros is a dead planet.”

Koji’s stomach soured. “They keep telling me they’re the good guys,” he said.

“No doubt they believe that,” Snarl said, crouching down to the boy’s level. “But think on this, child: history is only ever written by the victors. Many an ill deed has been varnished, in hindsight, with false nobility and heroism. War makes not heroes but soldiers – and soldiers these Autobots be. Their business is war, not salvation, and the interests of their own kind come first. If a planet is ravaged in their passing, a population decimated… so be it, provided their goals are achieved and their enemies destroyed.”

The boy fought the urge to vomit. “So why are you here, then?”

Snarl sighed. “What point would there be, remaining on a dead world? I was offered passage were I to conscript myself to the Autobot cause, and so accepted.” He frowned again. “But mine was a world of greenery, of cool breezes, of _life_ in all its myriad forms. A planet such as Cybertron – with its metallic sterility – was enough to drive me mad. Those above me decided Earth would be the best place for me, halfway does it sit between the ‘civility’ of Cybertron and the natural splendour of Animatros.”

He spat on the ground – idly, Koji noticed the fluid looked to be part oil and part saliva. “It was an excellent suggestion, but one that was enacted poorly. Officially, it is believed an enormous, metallic white wolf might serve to frighten the local populace, and so I am confined to the base and its surrounds.” Snarl looked right into the boy’s eyes. “However, it is my feeling the motivations behind my _imprisonment_ are far more sinister.”

“What do you mean?” Koji asked breathlessly.

“Not now,” Snarl said, looking around quickly. “There are too many eyes within this forest – too many conduits through which Ultra Magnus may listen.” He took a step back and transformed, once again, into his wolf mode. “We will speak of this again, boy, in the days to come,” he said, sniffing the air and turning to the north. “Until then, keep our meeting secret. Perhaps, if we work together, both you and I can earn our freedom… and then begin the search for your parents.”

Koji, his heart racing, nodded emphatically.

“Excellent,” Snarl crooned through a hunter’s grin. “Until next we meet… Koji.”

The wolf howled and loped away, moving so quickly Koji had trouble following. Adrenaline was rushing through his body. He’d found someone who could confirm his fears – that the Autobots, irrespective of what they were in his father’s day, had become a threat to the planet. They lied not only to everyone else, but to themselves as well. Better, Koji had found an ally, someone who saw the truth in the situation and was prepared to help him… _and_ his family.

Now, all he had to do was stomach the company of Jazz and his friends for a little while longer, until he and Snarl were ready to make their move.

He ran for the base as fast as he could go, his head swimming with thoughts and plans. So preoccupied was he that he didn’t notice Snarl, hidden behind a thicket, watching.

Grinning.

Laughing.

\-----

“My opinion on all dis? Fools errand,” Armourhide said to his companion. “I mean, dere’s miles and miles of tunnels… it could’a taken us days to find youse guys. Instead we trip over ya within minutes which, to me, suggests you were looking for us.”

Divebomb didn’t answer, of course.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Armourhide continued, as if he had received a reply. “You all decided dat, because you’re a bunch of slaggin’ beast mechs, you’d come huntin’ for us like da animals you are. Didn’t count on dis level of opposition, didja?”

His foot caught on a rough piece of concrete and he stumbled. Then he tripped on the Terrorcon and crashed forward. Lacking an arm, he couldn’t stop himself and landed square on his head. “Aw, great,” he moped, releasing Divebomb to rub the dented metal. “Rodimus goes and gets me back on my feet, and _you_ just knock me down again. Thanks, beak-brain.”

“Armourhide?”

The voice caught him by surprise – Armourhide whirled and aimed a blaster he no longer had, using an arm that was no longer attached. Fortunately, the speaker in the shadows was Downshift. “Stay right there,” the engineer gushed, stomping over. “I’ll help you up.”

“And just where the frell have you been, Downshift?” the commando demanded. “I ain’t seeing no scratches, dings or scorches on your armour. Come t’think of it, I ain’t seen you since dis whole mess started.” An indignant look crossed his face. “You been hidin’ or somethin’?”

Downshift coughed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said… but his voice sounded a little strained. “Magnus wanted me to keep checking on the GSB, try to sort out the scanner problem, while the rest of you engaged the Terrorcons.” He coughed again. “I’m not making much progress.”

“Meanwhile, we’re out here gettin’ scrapped,” Armourhide winced, shifting around to a sitting position. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not exactly bursting with gratitude for yer noble sacrifice.” He went to grab for Divebomb with his right hand, remembered it wasn’t there, and gave up.

“Your arm,” Downshift exclaimed, suddenly noticing the damage. He was on Armourhide in a second, pushing him toward the floor and pinning him by the shoulders. “Lay down, little guy, and hold still,” he said, face furrowed with concern. “You’ve suffered a severe and traumatic injury. It might even be Spark-threatening, if left untreated. So I’m just going to take you out of there for a little while, until your chassis is all healed up, and you’ll be right as rain. Okay?”

He didn’t wait for Armourhide to respond. With a hiss and a cloud of evaporating coolant, Downshift’s front grille split in half and cracked open to reveal a glowing Energon claw. Its orange grippers were serrated and studded with all manner of tools. In the centre of the pincers was a small, sharp-tipped cone, around which crackled eldritch energies.

“Hey,” Armourhide cried. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What do you think you’re doin’, huh? Get the heck away with dat… dat _thing!_ ”

“It’s not a thing, it’s a scientifically proven process…”

“It’s a piece of tech you picked up on Speedia,” Armourhide howled, waving his remaining arm to try and fend Downshift off. “It’s a blasted Spark catcher, like dey use to make clones! I read da damn file, all right, and I know I don’t need it! I’m fine!”

“Your arm is missing,” Downshift protested. “You could die! How can you possibly be all right?”

“Rodimus fixed me up!”

“Pah,” Downshift spat. “Mystical mumbo-jumbo that’s not worth a scrap of Energon. That ain’t going to keep you running, pal. So sit still, let me get your Spark out of there until I can get that arm re-attached and…”

A massive shockwave knocked them both down, ending the debate. Downshift pulled the Spark-catcher back into his body and reached for his twin missile launchers. Armourhide grabbed at Divebomb, refusing to give up his prize. Smoke wafted past them – when it cleared, the smaller mech noticed Rodimus and Jazz flanking them on either side, weapons at the ready.

“What da heck was dat?” Armourhide asked.

“You really don’t wanna know,” Jazz moaned.

He looked up. Ultra Magnus had returned, but that wasn’t a good thing. Their leader had his Planet Key-powered super-weapon aimed directly at them, mini-gun spinning and missiles smoking in their pre-launch sequence. His optics looked odd… unfocused, static-corrupted and just plain _wrong._.

“Pretty obvious what’s happened,” Downshift murmured.

“Don’t mean it ain’t gonna hurt,” Jazz replied grimly.

The bat-winged Decepticon stepped out from behind Magnus. Once again, the jewel on his forehead was glowing. The rest of the Terrorcons quickly gathered around him, cackling and growling with pleasure. “Nice work, Sky Shadow,” Insecticon giggled. “And here I thought my cerebro-shells were the best form of mind control known to mech. I’m impressed.”

“Your praise means _so_ much to me,” Sky Shadow replied with obvious sarcasm.

“So that’s the monster’s name,” Downshift breathed. “Fat lot of good it’ll do us once Magnus has reduced us to scrap.”

Rodimus shook his head. “Not going to happen,” he said with a faint smile. “Keep watching.”

Sky Shadow placed one ebony hand on Ultra Magnus’ hip. “Slave,” he announced grandly, “annihilate your enemies.”

“My pleasure,” Magnus said, his face erupting into a feral grin. “I think I’ll start with _you_.”

Faster than the optic could track, the massive mech fired his mini-gun at Sky Shadow. The Terrorcon didn’t have time to cry out – all he could do was gurgle and keel over. Wreckloose fell next, followed by Insecticon. Battle Ravage’s agility served him well but for a few moments – even he couldn’t dodge the blue lightning bolts spewing from Magnus’ cannon. The Autobot leader scanned his downed enemies and, for good measure, fired a burst of bullets into their prone forms.

“For all the good it’ll do,” he muttered. “Autobots – I’ve bought us some time. Much as it pains me to say this, it’s time for a tactical retreat. Mount up, load the wounded into my trailer and let’s go.”

Jazz was dumbfounded. “But Sky Shadow… he… I mean…”

“Give someone enough doses of poison,” Rodimus said lightly, “and he becomes immune to it. For a Matrix-bearer, shrugging off hypnosis is nothing – once they’ve experienced it.”

“Matrix bearer?” Downshift asked.

“In conjunction with Optimus, of course,” Rodimus sighed. “Or do the words ‘binary Spark’ mean nothing to you? And it’s how I knew Big ‘Bot was faking it. Those of us who’ve held the Matrix have… well, a _link._ ”

“ _Fas_ cinatin’,” Armourhide interrupted from his spot on the floor. “I’m missin’ an arm but have this winged galoot as a lovely consolation prize. So can we go home now?”

Magnus transformed. Quickly, the Autobots shuttled Armourhide and Divebomb into his trailer section, pausing just long enough to fix the Terrorcon’s shackles to an overhead piece of framework. “The GSB is compromised but not lost,” Magnus said bitterly. “Once we figure out a way around the Terrorcons’ healing factor, we’ll come back.”

The Autobots changed into their vehicle modes and accelerated toward the exit. Magnus brought up the rear, driving in reverse and sweeping the tunnel with his cannons. Any time a Terrorcon so much as flinched, he pumped a few rounds into it. By the time the juggernaut reached the tunnel exit, he’d emptied his magazine.

“It’s not knocking ‘em down that’s hard, it’s getting ‘em to stay down that’s the trick,” Jazz said.

“We’ll find a trick of our own, don’t worry,” Magnus said, his voice in Armourhide’s ear thanks to the magic of inter-Autobot radio. “Thanks to Armourhide, we have our first real shot at learning all about Terrorcons, Transmetals and this so-called True Path – we lost a battle, sure, but the war is about to swing in our favour.”

No one cheered, or much reacted to the pep talk… not even once they were back on the freeway and headed for the mountain. _Fer all his fine words, dere’s no escapin’ da truth,_ Armourhide thought darkly. _We just got our skid plates kicked, on our own turf, by a bunch a guys who used to be jokes. Now, they’re killin’ machines and we’re in trouble._

\-----

“They have taken that which belongs to the Path.”

“Yes, they have,” Sky Shadow acknowledged, “but we’re not without a prize of our own.”

He lay a long, slender object on a bench. Armourhide’s arm, snatched from the midst of battle. “Divebomb was able to sever, but not secure, it,” the scientist explained. “Wreckloose recovered it before the Autobot could. Primary spectrographic analysis…”

“Confirms my theory, does it not?”

Sky Shadow rankled. He should, by rights, be used to the second-guessing and the high accuracy rate of his “friendly competition”. Yet it still drove him mad, at times, like a splinter in his processor. “Yes,” he said at last. “It supports your theory 100 per cent. The metal in the limb has regularly undergone temporal distortion – not enough to cause atrophy, but enough to be noticeable. Whatever method they’re using to control the effect is sheer genius.”

He heard the sound of spinning wheels punctuated, every few seconds, by the noise of a stamping foot. From out the darkness, Predacon roller-bladed into view, twirling and pivoting on his foot-mounted wheels.

“I would expect nothing less from Downshift,” the cult leader said. “No. When it comes to engineering, he is without peer. A shame his prowess in battle is as lacking as his mental state.”

Predacon skated closer to the limb. He peered down at it, wriggling his dinosaur fingers and chuckling slightly. “This is the confirmation we needed; the vindication of our agenda thus far,” he declared. “Ultra Magnus and his Autobots are in possession of the technology we seek, which means phase two of our plan can get underway. Yes.”

He skated a full circuit around the bench. “As for Divebomb, he is of the Path and, therefore, more than capable of looking after himself. Besides…” His grin broadened. “His captivity may yet prove to be the best advantage we could ask for.”

Sky Shadow was puzzled. “My lord?”

“Where the Autobots see a prisoner, I see an informant – a mech with an insight into the workings of the Earthforce base,” Predacon said happily. “That’s the one thing about birds, Sky Shadow… they can be caged but, once released, they sing merrily of their experiences.”


End file.
